


Heedless of the wind and weather (Not a good idea)

by twoohugs



Series: Advent Calendar 2019 [4]
Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Christmas, First Meetings, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-07
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:22:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21682156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twoohugs/pseuds/twoohugs
Summary: A dull thud outside shakes Frank out of his thoughts. He whips around to see a dark figure outside the shop, leaning heavily on the glass window.What the fuck,he thinks as he stomps towards the door,what the actual fuck.Instead of turning his grief into anger, Frank channels it into fulfilling Maria's childhood dreams of owning a coffee shop. And one snowy night, a stranger in a suit crashes in.
Relationships: Frank Castle/Matt Murdock
Series: Advent Calendar 2019 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1556131
Comments: 16
Kudos: 161
Collections: holidays





	1. Frank

**Author's Note:**

> I love this pairing but there are nowhere near enough fics about them, Well, you know how it goesーif you want a specific fic, write it yourself. So here we go.
> 
> Title from Deck the Halls (whatever version you are listening to)!

Frank isn’t exactly sure why they are still open. Nobody in their right mind will leave their house in this weather for anything short of absolute emergency, and it’s not like he wants to serve any nutters or idiots that think it is a good idea to go to a coffee shop in the middle of a snow storm, anyway.

But his small apartment (if you can even call it that) upstairs is empty and sad, and his shop is warm and filled with festive decorations, and he can make himself as many cups of hot chocolate as he likes, so he sinks further down the armchair near the fireplace, Max peacefully sleeping near his feet, and lets himself relax.

This year, per tradition, he set up the Christmas decorations the day after Thanksgiving. It’s just his rotten luck that the Christmas tree in the shop was knocked down by a child merely 2 days later. He couldn’t even get angry because the child at fault was almost crushed by the tree and was completely freaked out and wailing, so he just sighed, gritted out “it’s fine” at the apologizing parent, and cleaned it up afterwards.

But he couldn’t leave his shop without a tree in December, so the next day he carried his own tree down and set it up in the shop. It’s much smaller, a half-bald, plastic excuse of a tree that Frank has had since before-

Well, point is, Frank has kept the tree for sentimental value, okay, and it is weird to not have it in his little home when he’s got all the other decorations up. So he took them all down. And now his flat is completely miserable, so he’s taken to spending as much time down at the shop as he can, and only going up there to wash up and sleep.

A dull thud outside shakes Frank out of his thoughts. He whips around to see a dark figure outside the shop, leaning heavily on the glass window. _What the fuck,_ he thinks as he stomps towards the door, _what the actual fuck._

He wrenched the door open, almost falling backwards at the harsh wind and snow blowing straight to his face. Bracing against the cold, he steps out carefully to reach the person at the window. He could barely make out their shape through the storm, but they seem to be unmoving.

“Hey!” Frank shouts. He doesn’t hear a reply, and the blurry shape hardly shifts. He grits his teeth and continues to inch forward.

When he reaches the person, a man, he sees that he’s almost frozen. He has snow all over his head and body, his glasses basically frosted over, his lips horrifyingly blue, and he is clutching a white stick in his hand. _Damn._

“Hey, I’m gonna take you inside, alright?” He says loudly, worried that there will be no response. However, the man nods, a small, jerky movement but a movement nonetheless, and Frank lets out a relieved breath before throwing the man’s arm over his shoulder and half-carrying him back into his shop.

He doesn’t get to enjoy the warmth once he gets them inside and kicks the door shut, because he can feel the rigidity of the man through his body and he really doesn’t fancy their chances with an ambulance in this weather. Leading the man to his chair in front of the fire, he (as gently as he could) dumps the man on his armchair, peels his cane out of his death grip, and starts stripping off his soaked, stiff, freezing clothes.

“Sorry, man, have to keep you alive.” He mutters as he removes the few layers of clothes the man has―no wonder he’s frozen―and hurriedly grabs a towel by the counter. It’s no bath towel, but at least it’s not a dish cloth. He barely remembers to pull the curtains so just in case there’s another nutter roaming around, they won’t see this stranger’s bare body through the window.

Carefully wiping down the stranger’s torso, Frank finally can spare a moment to see who he’s rescued. He’s tall, taller than Frank, with miles of legs, has a surprising amount of lean muscles, rough hands, and an honestly ridiculous amount of huge, ragged scars. His dark hair has a reddish gleam in the firelight, and there is some slight gruff around his jaw. He’s very attractive, probably younger than Frank by just a few years.

Wrapping a thick wool blanket around the man, he sets to spread out his wet clothes in front of the fire to dry. He had been wearing a suit under a thick jacket. An office worker, maybe? But all offices have been closed for hours since before the snowstorm hit. And how does a paper pusher get these scars?

Frank sighs. He’s getting more questions instead of answers. Checking on the man again, and happy that he seems to be thawing a little bit, he apologizes quietly and turns over the man’s suit pockets to look for clues.

There is a phone, not a smartphone but an old blackberry. A wallet, black leather worn at the edges. He finds a business card inside the wallet: “ _Nelson and Murdock, Attorneys at Law. Matthew Murdock_ ”. 

He googles the name with his phone. There are results about the law firm, which was apparently the one that took down Fisk just a couple of months agoーno wonder the name sounded familiarーand plenty of news articles. He clicks on a news article, and… bingo. On a picture taken in front of the court, there is the blind stranger, with the familiar black suit and red-tinted glasses, next to another young man with long blonde hair. His partner?

Murdock’s card doesn’t offer the number of his partner, nor does the google search help. There _is_ an address, which really isn’t any help in the current situation. Frank runs a hand over his face. He seems to have sighed a bit too much just this past few minutes.

“Sorry, buddy.” He mutters and inspects the stranger, Mattew Murdock’s, phone. It is blessedly not locked, but a scroll through his contact list proved fruitless as there is not a Nelson. Murdock must have saved the number by the first name. There is only one thing he could do.

Frank goes to Murdock’s recent calls and is relieved that most of the calls are from or to one “Foggy”. A best friend, maybe? Or a girlfriend? Either way calling someone so frequently must mean they are close. That’s a safe enough bet. He calls the number.

“Matt?” A cheerful male voice answers. Not girlfriend, then.

“Who is this?” He asks, wincing at his rough voice.

“Who are _you_?” The man says, immediately sounding much more aware and much less friendly, “Why do you have Matt’s phone?”

“He is your friend?” Frank asks, just to be sure.

“You bet I am! What have you done to him?”

Feeling that the “Foggy” friend is working himself up to panic, Frank hurries to explain, “I’m the owner of Max’s Coffee. I found him freezing outside my shop.”

“What?”

“I think he’s alright, for now. He’s warming up, but still unconscious.”

“Shit. Shit, are you sure he’s alright?”

“Yes, I think I got him just in time. He’s shivering nowーthat’s a good sign. I’m keeping him here for now, no one’s getting anywhere in this weather. Maybe you can come fetch him when the storm’s over.”

“Shit, yeah. Thank you. Max’s, huh? That’s close to our office.”

Frank hums. “You’re Nelson, then?”

‘Oh, yes, Franklin ‘Foggy’ Nelson. Thank you for saving my best friend, Mr…?”

“I’m Frank.”

“Thank you Frank, please take care of Matt, I told him to go home early, that fucker _told_ me he’s going home in five minutes, that’s five hours ago! Fucking workaholic with no sense of self-preservation...”

Frank sighs. There’s his answer to why Murdock is still out here at this time, then. As he lets Nelson babble on his rant, he sees a small movement at the corner of his eye. He turns his head to see Murdock stirring.

“Nelson?”

“Yes? Oh, sorry, I shouldn’t have-”

“Nelson.”

“Sorry.”

“Your friend is waking. I’m going to take care of him now, come _after_ the storm ends, alright?”

“Okay. Thank you, Frank, I can’t imagine what would’ve happened if…” Nelson falters.

“It’s okay.” Frank says gruffly. 

“Okay then. Um, bye!” 

Frank grunts in reply and ends the call. He moves in front of the armchair just in time to see Murdock’s eyelids flicker and blink slowly. As he slowly comes into consciousness, he seems to realize his nakedness, and snaps awake immediately, his sightless eyes widening in panic.

“Hey, hey.” Frank says as gently as he could, ducking out of the way of Murdock’s flailing limbs. “You’re safe, your clothes are just drying. I had to take them off to prevent hypothermia. I haven’t done anything other than drying you, I swear.”

Murdock turns to the direction of his voice. “Where am I? Who are you?”

“Name’s Frank. I own Max’s coffee, that’s where you are now. I found you freezing outside my door.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah, shit. What the hell were you doing out there, in a snowstorm, alone, with this pathetic excuse of a coat?”

Murdock honest-to-god pouts. “I just wanted to finish that set of notes before leaving.” He says miserably, “I didn’t know it was that bad, and when I realized it I had gone too far to turn back.” 

Frank sighs. He can’t bear to see the sad puppy eyes Murdock is having, and Nelson is going to handle the nagging when he comes, anyway.

“You want a hot shower? My house is just upstairs. I’ll get you some clothes.”

Murdick hesitates. Frank couldn’t exactly blame him for not trusting himーpeople don’t trust strangers as a whole, never mind a blind man, stranded in a snowstorm, with a guy that sounds like Frank.

“Or you can just stay here, in front of the fire. I’ll get you the clothes and some hot soup.”

Murdock relaxes marginally and gives him a small, grateful smile. “That would be great, thank you.”

“It’s nothing. And maybe call your friend, Nelson? I told him you’re safe here but I think he’d prefer hearing from you directly.”

Murdock blanches. “You called Foggy?”

“I didn’t exactly have a choice, Murdock. I found a stranger outside my door in the middle of a snowstorm.”

Murdock deflates. “Yeah, I guess. Sorry. Thank you.”

“Like I said, it’s nothing. Call him. I’ll be back with the clothes and soup.”

“Okay, thank you.”

Frank doesn’t bother to say “it’s nothing” again, knowing that it’s no use. This is going to be a long night. At least Murdock seems to be rather pleasant company.


	2. Matt

Matt listens as Frank walks towards to back, his steps surprisingly light for a man his size. He flips the phone around with his fingers, putting off his call to Foggy. He can almost hear his best friend shouting at him.

 _At least it won’t be about vigilantism for a change._ He thinks sardonically, chuckling at himself. It was a terribly bad idea to walk out there in such heavy snowーand it means something, Matt Murdock admitting something he did to be a bad idea. The cold felt absolutely freezing on his hyper-sensitive skin, and even as he snuggles deeper into the blanket burrito Frank wrapped him in, he can still feel some of the lingering chill.

Matt wiggles his fingers and toes, glad that he can still feel them, and holds up his phone with a sigh. Better get it over with, before Frank comes back to witness his humiliation. He hits the call button.

“Hello?”

“Foggy.”

“Matt! You’re awake! Are you alright? I just got this call from the scruff-sounding guy, and he said he found you in the cold-”

“I am alright now, Foggy, all wrapped up and warm.” Matt tries to calm Foggy. Unfortunately, he succeeded, and Foggy’s alarm fades, leaving behind dangerous fury.

“What the hell, Matt? You said you were going home _immediately_ after that last page, andwhatmakesyouthinkitsagoodideato-”

“Foggy. I’m sorry.” Matt interrupts before Foggy can work himself up to a proper frenzy.

“We will talk about this, Murdock.” Foggy warns, although Matt can hear his relief.

“Of course.” Matt makes sure his gratefulness shows in his tone. 

Foggy huffs. “That Frank guy, is he okay? Are you gonna be fine staying there ‘till the morning?”

“Yes, he is very kind. I will be alright Foggy, don’t worry.”

“Don’t worry, he says.” Matt can _hear_ his eye roll. “I’ll leave immediately after finishing this, he said. You’d better be in perfect condition when I come fetch you in the morning, I’m warning you. Don’t you even dare leave before that.”

“I will, I promise.”

Foggy disconnects with one last humph.

Matt sighs as he puts down his phone, and waits for Frank, who he has heard return, to speak up.

Frank waits for a few moments before coming closer with deliberately loud steps, clearing his throat. Matt smiles inwardly at his consideration.

“Frank?” He asks, as he is supposed to.

“Yes.” He pauses. “I take it you’ve called your friend.”

“Foggy, yes.” Matt wouldn’t be able to keep the exasperated fondness out of his voice even if he tries, “He’s rather protective of me.”

Frank snorts, putting a stack of cloth into Matt’s outstretched hand, “Given the state you were in when I found you, the worry is warranted.” His tone is stern but playfully teasing.

Matt smiles as he smooths his hands over the stackーa folded towel, a soft, worn pullover hoodie and a pair of sweatpants.

“If you don’t want to move to the bathroom, I guess you can change here.” Frank says, “There are windows, but I can promise there’s no other nutter wandering around out there in this weather.”

Matt barks out a surprised laugh, then stands up to run the towel over his body and pull on the clothes. When he finishes and attempts to smooth down his hair, Frank returns with a bowl of hot soup in his hands.

“Sit. The fireplace and clothes can only do so muchーlet’s get your stomach warm.” He says, and Matt finds himself settling back onto the armchair obediently, reaching out for the bowl.

Frank presses the bowl and a spoon into his hands, and sit down opposite him with his own cup of cocoa.

Frank isn’t a very talkative man, Matt finds. The two chat occasionally throughout the night, but mostly stay silent. Matt would have urged Frank to go up and rest, but then he remembers that Frank has been sitting here all alone before he crashed into his night, and decides not to mention it.

Matt enjoys Frank’s company, anyway, and he lets himself be a bit selfish and sinks into Frank’s deep, rough voice as they talk, deep into the night. Thing is, Frank seems to _understand_. Matt is sure there is no way for Frank to know about his… night time activities, but he seems to get that Matt has a story to tell (or not tell, for that matter), and respects that. He mentioned the Fisk job at some point, having googled their firm earlier, but when Matt hesitated just a moment too long, he’d swiftly changed the topic of the conversation.

Under the dusty plastic smell of Frank’s fake christmas tree, and the christmas decorations he cannot see, Matt carefully catalogues everything about Frank he could gather. He is obviously ex-military, judging by the way he talks, walks, and moves, and while he doesn’t offer a backstory to his transition to a cafe owner (and Matt doesn’t ask), Matt can imagine something tragic has happened. 

Matt rather thinks he and Frank could make good friends by bonding over their respective trauma. Alas, while Frank might have gone through shit in the past, Matt’s current life is shit, and there is no way he’s going to drag Frank, a retired military man who has moved on to owning a homey coffee shop, into the mess that he has created, that he is in, that he _is_.

So the next morning when Foggy bursts through the door, a lecture ready on his lips, Matt simply thanks Frank for the help, promises to return his clothes soon, and says goodbye.

* * *

Matt slowly returns to consciousness. He lets his senses spread out, thoroughly inspecting the state of his body. His armor and mask are both gone, which is understandable given his head injury; he is bruised basically everywhere, but his cracked ribs are wrapped up tightly, and multiple cuts littered over his body are either covered in gauze or stitched up.

He takes in a deep breath, taking in the environment around him. He is lying on a soft couch, under a blanket that smells vaguely of coffee, soap and sweat. He can smell a familiar dusty plastic smell, and feels a weird sense of déjà vu.

He hears the only heartbeat in his immediate vicinity come closer, strong and steady. 

“You awake?” Frank asks.

“Y-yeah.” Matt croaks, shifting to a more upright position. Franks comes forward and presses a glass into his hand. He smells faintly of blood. “What happened?”

Frank waits a moment before answering. “I don’t know, you tell me.” He says at last, his tone imperceptible, “I met a blind lawyer just a week ago, and tonight I found him fighting half the russian gang in the alley behind my shop.”

 _Ah. The Russians._ Matt’s mouth feels dry, and he gulps down the water. “And you… fought them off?”

“Not sure what you wanted to do with them.” Franks says curtly. “So they’re still out there in the alley.”

“What?” Matt’s head snaps up, letting himself listen further and realizes that yes, there are a dozen heartbeats in the back alley. He’s not sure if he’s more surprised by Frank making beating up a whole group of russian gangsters sound so easy, or by himself letting down his guard so much he doesn’t even know the enemy is still closeby.

He feels Frank shrug. “Can’t tell what the Devil is up to, can I.” He says.

Feeling lost, Matt frowns at his hands. Frank is taking this way better than he should. Yelling and vicious questioning he could handle, but he has no idea how to react to this calm acceptance. Considering Frank’s blunt nature, he decides to make it as straightforward as he could.

“I really am blind,” he tries. Frank hums, listening quietly in that intense way of his. “Lost the sense of sight in an accident when I was nine. Instead I got other enhanced senses, good enough to fight.”

“That’s… incredible.” Frank leans back, and Matt can almost say he sounds _impressed_. 

Matt shrugs. “I’m sorry for dragging you into this mess. I’ll go deal with-”

Frank presses a hand on his shoulder to stop him from getting up. “They are all tied up, and if you really want to get rid of them now, you can just tell me what to do. Enhanced senses or not, you’re not going anywhere in this state.”

Matt opens his mouth to argue, but gives up when Frank puts more pressure on his shoulder. He sighs.

“I usually just beat them up and warn them to leave Hell’s Kitchen alone.”

“And do they usually listen to that?” Frank asks incredulously, and Matt thinks he can _hear_ a judgemental eyebrow raise.

“Well, there’s not much more I can do.” He huffs, not in the mood for a debate. Frank stays quiet for a moment.

“Well, they are sufficiently beat up.” He decides after a while. “And it’s Christmas tomorrow.” Matt huffs out a laugh, and winces at the pain in his chest.

“You’d better lie back down.” Frank stands up, walking towards to back. “I’ll deal with them.”

“Thank you.” Matt gratefully sinks back into the couch, then freezes half-way. “Frank.”

“What?”

“Please tell me you didn’t called Foggy.”

“Well…”

“Please no, he’ll kill me.”

“If that’s what it takes to stop you from going on patrol when it’s below zero, I’ll do it.” Frank warns, though Matt can hear the warmth in his voice. “You’re lucky I wasn’t sure whether Nelson knows about Daredevil.”

Matt sags in relief. “Thank you, Frank.”

“Don’t mention it.” Frank says gruffly, and stomps out the shop. Now that Matt is more aware, he can hear the punches Frank lands on the gangsters and the threats he makes before throwing them out, and can’t help but wonder if Frank is physically intimidating enough to keep the Russians away from Hell Kitchen longer than he is usually able to.

Matt smiles to himself, and snuggles into the warmth of the blanket. When Frank comes back, Matt is half-way asleep.

“Sleep.” Frank says when he sees Matt’s drooping eyelids. “You’ll need to recover at full speed if you don’t want to be stuck in bedrest on Christmas tomorrow.”

“Mmm.” Matt lets himself sink even lower on the couch. “Merry Christmas.”

As he falls asleep and tones out all the background noise, the last he hears is the throaty chuckle of Frank.

“Merry Christmas to you too, Matt.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of the earliest fics I wrote for this series when I was attempting to end every single fic with some form of "Merry Christmas". Alas, it didn't work.


End file.
